


Makeshift

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, First Time, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori and Bilbo make the best of their first mating on the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Makeshift

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “The first time a Dwarf lies with his omega is of most importance. They spend months preparing for the first heat and have to make sure no one will bother them. Except they are on the Wilds now, and having lost his herbs, Bilbo's heat hits with full force. And DoYC tries to resist, but soon the smell of his Omega is clouding his thoughts and he hides with his hobbit behind a tree and claims him in full earshot of the company. - The rest of the dwarves understand how important this is and they set watch to unsure the lovebirds are safe. - Very possessive sex, since the alpha knows the rest can hear him” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/11476.html?thread=24025812#t24025812).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Ori’s just a scribe-in-training from the Blue Mountains—he’s not from Erebor, not from a great family, not a warrior, and he still wonders how in the world he got dealt an alpha’s hand instead of an omega’s. He doesn’t think he deserves much. Of course he grew up with the stories, knowing of the customs of dwarves, the traditions surrounding mating, and he just assumed he’d have one, someday, though he never felt the world _owed_ it to him. He’s quite content to have Bilbo Baggins for an omega, and even if they never _mated_ , he’d still consider himself quite lucky. 

Bilbo, on the other, deserves _so much more_ than what Ori can give him. When his heat strikes, it strikes _hard_ , and he scrambles about his packs, tearing his supplies apart while his knees shake and his cheeks turn red, panting like an animal. The herbs he started out with are gone, and they’re in no place to fetch more. He looks at Ori with those burning eyes, whimpers, trips over his own apologies, stumbles into Ori’s arms and _begs_ to be _fucked_ , right in the middle of the Wilds with only dirt underfoot. 

Bilbo deserves better. But Ori can’t give it to him. They’re days away from the nearest bed. There’s no time to prepare for it, to plan and discuss what’s right for them, to bring gifts, candles, or incense—Bilbo _tried_ to hold his heat back with herbs, and it might’ve been _amazing_ to celebrate their first mating in Erebor—but with so many trials behind them, those herbs are gone, and it’s all hit him full force: there’s no time to waste. He looks at Ori like he’ll break apart if he isn’t taken, and all Ori can do is help guide him behind a smattering of trees, the other dwarves turning their heads. 

They’re good dwarves, Ori knows. They give him privacy, halting the quest and setting up a watch. They tell him he and Bilbo won’t be disturbed, and even though Ori’s thankful for that small chance, he still feels a _fire_ in his stomach—he’s traveling with so many hungry alphas, and they have a beautiful omega radiating sex amidst them, a beautiful omega that belongs to _Ori_. But Ori doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to fight for Bilbo, not if someone like Dwalin or Thorin or even Dori wanted him, and it mingles fear and jealousy in Ori’s gut, making him hold Bilbo tight against his side and guide them deeper into the trees than need be. 

When they’re alone, he turns Bilbo and sets the trembling hobbit down onto the ground. Bilbo’s knees give way instantly, and he wraps his arms around Ori’s legs, his face pressing into Ori’s crotch, sniffing and mewling. He noses against the growing bulge in Ori’s trousers and mumbles, “Oh, I’m sorry, please, ahh—I-I know it’s so improper, but I can’t—I can’t— _Ori_!” He has tears in his eyes. 

Ori pushes him away to sit down beside him. Ori takes Bilbo’s face in his hands, kisses the tears back and promises, hushed but forceful, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Bilbo whines, shaking his cute head and covering his face with his hands. He looks so _embarrassed_ , but his scent betrays his lust, and he keeps arching his body towards Ori, rolling it as though slowly humping the air. “I-I know dwarves make... make a big ceremony out of it, but I... I can’t get anymore herbs and—and...”

“It’s okay,” Ori repeats. He wraps his hands around Bilbo’s smaller wrists. He always thought he had little hands for a dwarf, but Bilbo’s make his look fat and long. “I don’t care.” And he really doesn’t, whatever Dori might say he deserves or Nori brags about. “I’m honoured to have you, Bilbo. Honestly, I’d rather be out here with you, in just dirt and leaves, than in a big, luxurious, planned ceremony in the heart of Erebor with someone else.”

Bilbo whimpers. But he nods, seems to understand, and suddenly tosses his arms around Ori’s shoulders. He opens his mouth like he wants to be kissed but is too lost to coordinate it, so Ori does the rest. He’s never been particularly experienced, but Bilbo isn’t either, and they figure things out together. He kisses Bilbo, belatedly tilting his face so his big nose isn’t flattening poor Bilbo’s, his lips open wide and his scruff digging into Bilbo’s smooth chin. Bilbo mewls against the kiss, opening wide for his tongue to press into Ori’s. Already, it’s a deeper kiss than they’ve ever shared. They’ve been romantic but not sexual months—nowhere good to have their first mating, and herbs to help—but now there’s no holding back, and Ori plunges his tongue into Bilbo’s mouth as far as he can. He traces everything, trying to memorize the taste, lapping at Bilbo’s walls and teeth and curling around Bilbo’s tongue, crushing out their air. He has to breath through his nose, because he won’t pull back when he knows he should. He can smell, _feel_ Bilbo’s pheromones calling to him, and it drives him _wild_.

Normally, he might go slow. He’d slowly peel the ceremonial robes from Bilbo’s body one by one, kiss and lick down it, rub in oil to make it shine. They don’t have any of that. Bilbo’s too far-gone. His hands slip down Ori’s shoulders, tugging at the heavy sweater, and Ori parts their mouths enough to pull it over his head. They’re back to kissing a moment later, even though he has more on. Bilbo’s struggling out of his jacket, but he’s having a hard time of it, and Ori has to stop and help him, pushing it away. 

They fumble out of everything. Ori even kicks off his boots, shedding knitwear until he’s completely naked, and Bilbo is as well, trying to throw himself back into Ori’s lap. Ori forces himself to hold Bilbo back so he can rearrange their clothes first, gathering the pile into something of a nest, messy but softer than the hard ground. When he has a rough oval, he picks Bilbo up by the hips, fingers squishing into Bilbo’s warm flesh. He’s fatter than he was when they started, or maybe just weighs more from muscle, but Ori’s also stronger. He settles Bilbo down in the makeshift bed, and Bilbo mewls, lying down as he’s bid. 

Then Ori needs to take a moment just to look at Bilbo, take a heady breath full of Bilbo’s ripe smell, dripping with sex and need, customized just for _Ori_ ; he knew Bilbo was his omega right away. They fit so well together, misfits as they are, better with quills than swords and interested in maps and knowledge and story-telling, soft but brave all at once, and greatly loyal. Ori’s always loved just talking to Bilbo, fully clothed and all, or snuggling or lying together, but now that he’s staring at Bilbo wearing _nothing_ , he’s sure he’ll love this just as much. Bilbo’s _beautiful_. He’s all smooth, round skin, creamy and washed in honey curls, everywhere flushed pink and red. His rosy nipples call to Ori, but so do his plump thighs, his arched cock and his wet, dilating hole. Ori’s eyes rake down Bilbo’s body but stop when they reach there, unable to turn away. He knew omegas prepared themselves for their alphas, but he’s still unprepared for the sight up close. It makes him growl deep in his throat—a noise he didn’t even know he could make. 

He’s impossibly hard, all the blood in his body rushing to his cock. Bilbo lifts his legs, bending almost in two, and he holds under his knees to keep them flat against his chest. It exposes his perfect rear all the better. His little puckered hole keeps stretching open, then shuddering and twitching closed, drizzling out a clear, thick liquid in a slow line down his middle. Ori’s frozen, ogling it and every little movement, until Bilbo whines, “Ori, _please_.”

Then his hands are moving. He grabs Bilbo’s ass, slipping under the curve of it to squeeze, moaning in response—Bilbo’s so _soft_. His other hand skims over Bilbo’s cock, small and pink and only lightly veined, lifted off his chest with his hardness but still pointing to his face. His balls are round and tight against his shaft, and Ori pets lovingly over them as he traces down to Bilbo’s hole, which tries to open all the wider for him. 

He shoves his index finger in, groaning as soon as it’s inside. It fits easily, Bilbo warm and wet for him, pulsing lightly around him and trying to suck him deeper. It beckons him to fill the hot channel up with _more_ , and Ori pulls out to stretch the furrowed brim with two fingers. When he pushes both inside at once, Bilbo tosses his head back and cries out, his pheromones spiking. He garbles through desperate moans and whimpers, “Ori, please, _please_ —put it inside me, I want to feel you, _ohh_ , I can’t take it...”

So Ori works fast, kneading the tight hole open, making absolutely sure he’ll fit. He’s consumed with _want_ , but he’d never hurt his Bilbo, no matter what. He only pulls out when he’s completely positive that he won’t tear anything, that his little hobbit can take his fat cock without any pain, and then he’s leaning over Bilbo, pressing his tip at the entrance. He can practically feel the heat wafting out around him. He holds it there for only a moment, savouring the memory—this will be his first time with his mate, and Ori plans to mate for life. It isn’t the ceremony he always thought it would be. He knows all his friends, his brothers, his _king_ can hear Bilbo’s cries. But he doesn’t feel any regret, just a searing, broiling happiness and _lust_.

He shoves his cock into Bilbo’s hole, and Bilbo _shrieks_ tossing up to throw his arms around Ori’s shoulders. Ori topples down, sliding further in, all at once, and he lets out his own howl, proud as a wolf; Bilbo feels _so, so good_ , just like Ori knew he would, absolutely _perfect_ , and it comes all at once in a feral rush: tight, hot, wet. He’s buried to the hilt before he knows it, Bilbo trembling all around him, clutching desperately at his sweaty shoulders and wailing in delight. 

Ori’s _loud_. Even his gasps that should be breathy and hoarse come out to carry. It’s good; he feels insanely _possessive_. He needs to make those noises, because he needs all the other dwarves to know that his cock is buried deep inside Bilbo Baggins. He needs Bilbo to know how much pleasure Ori finds in his body, all the other alphas to know that this omega is _Ori’s_. He’s Ori’s greatest treasure, the other half of Ori’s soul. Ori crushes down into Bilbo, flattening their round stomachs together and digging Bilbo into the nest of clothes, trying to shove his cock as far as it can go, even though he’s already fully sheathed. Bilbo whines when Ori rubs into him, and Ori tries to mumble reassurances: he wants to say _I love you_ again and again, but all that comes out of his mouth are sheer animal snarls. Bilbo seems just as wrecked, and he writhes on Ori’s cock like he was made to feel it.

Ori shifts, instinctively knows to slip halfway out and hold at just _this_ angle, then shoves back inside, roaring as Bilbo screams anew. Ori didn’t even know hobbits could be so loud. He does it again, pulls out, slams in, again after that, his hips going crazy. He pounds Bilbo hard into the ground, so relentless that Bilbo seems to bounce back into him with each thrust. Ori clutches at every part of Bilbo he can—ass, thighs, face—and Bilbo claws frantically at him. Ori wants to kiss him but doesn’t want to cut off the screams. Sometimes he can smell them, the other alphas, a subtle, ever-present competition, but right now, Bilbo drowns them all out. All Ori can smell, can see, can feel, can think is _Bilbo Baggins_ , and he suddenly grabs Bilbo’s hair, turning his face so he can slam their mouths together; Ori needs to _taste_ too.

Bilbo mewls into the kiss. It turns into a slew of them, one messy touch after the other, mouths opening and closing, full of tongue. They still make noises through it, just muffled, because Ori keeps pounding into him. His body moves all on its own. His hips are committed to the rhythm, and Bilbo goes along with it. The sounds of slapping skin-on-skin and Bilbo’s juices squelching around his cock are almost as loud as their panting, their moaning. Ori wants to _claim_ Bilbo more than he can say. When they aren’t kissing, when Bilbo needs to have his mouth free to claw at air, Ori noses against his cheek, licks at his jaw, around his ear, trying to rub his scent in everywhere. Bilbo’s rife with as much sweat as him, their bodies rolling slickly together. Ori’s burning up and wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He doesn’t want to finish. He wants to take Bilbo _forever_. He can’t think about the quest. He snarls, pinning Bilbo down suddenly, feeling himself close and wanting to _mark Bilbo all over_ ; Bilbo keens, high-pitched and wonton. Ori’s cock slams forward a final time, and then Ori’s pulling out. He wants to _fill Bilbo with his seed_ , but this first time, he knows he needs to paint Bilbo in it; he needs Bilbo to reek of him, to soak _Ori_ into his skin. Only a few seconds before him, Bilbo shrieks and comes, spilling over his own chest and Ori’s belly. Ori follows, grabbing his cock and pointing it down to make sure that every drop hits Bilbo. It covers Bilbo all over, drapes across his thighs, his stomach, his chest, around his throat and along his face. Ori comes almost twice as much; he’s an alpha, meant to mate, but this is more than his own hand’s ever brought him. He gives Bilbo a river, one white jet after another, until Bilbo is covered in a thin, messy layer of it, looking ready to faint. 

Ori’s pulse is racing in his ears, even when he’s finished. The sudden peak washes into a giddy pleasure: the hazy afterglow. He’s coming down, slow and steady. Bilbo reaches his arms out and lets his legs adjust, no longer flat against himself. Ori falls into Bilbo’s arms, holding on. 

He’s probably crushing Bilbo’s lungs. He’s burning hot. But Bilbo doesn’t complain, just holds onto him, sighing and nuzzling into the side of his face. Bilbo murmurs into his ear, “I love you, Ori, I love you very much.”

Groggy but sincere, Ori mumbles, “I love you too.” _So, so much._

They lie like that for a while, too spent to say anything more. In the distance, they can hear the faint buzz of conversation: the other dwarves. They must’ve heard everything. Ori’s face doesn’t cool down with the rest of him, and neither does Bilbo’s. Neither of them were equipped for this. But Ori has no regrets. 

Finally, he forces himself back up. He sits, looking down at Bilbo, nestled cutely in the nest of clothes, his skin drenched in sweat and seed. He looks very much like he belongs in a little hole in the earth, beside a warm fire and a gentle mate. Maybe someday, they’ll make it back to the Shire, and Ori can make love to Bilbo properly, in the nice, big bed at Bag End.

For now, he bends to scoop Bilbo into his arms. It’s difficult, but he can manage. Bilbo wraps his arms sheepishly around Ori’s neck. 

Ori carries Bilbo out and to the river to clean up, blushing as he passes the proud grins of his brothers and the congratulations on the others’ faces. He’s a lucky dwarf, and he knows it.


End file.
